The Things I Let Slip

It isn't the usual things
which go noticed. I never
take a sick
day. I'm dressed and pressed
have three job
titles none of which quite
fits.
No, it is those other quiet
more obliging guests,
letters which sit
never ripped open.
Questions, nice ones, like how
do you do? I don't have enough
room for any
thing new.
It's the essences, the blood,
not the bones.
I'ts me that's slipped.